Beery Busy Night on Liberty Avenue
by Elah
Summary: Once upon a time there were four men who frequented a club, Babylon. One fateful night they were on their way there, but they never made it. Things happen…but when things mix together…well suspicions rise…maybe the guys have a screw or two loose…


**Beery Busy Night on Liberty Avenue**

_Once upon a time there were four young men who frequented a club called Babylon on Liberty Avenue. One fateful night in late summer they were on their way to Babylon, but they never m__ade it. Things happen, they do…__but when a river of beers, men's room mishaps, and tricking mix __together …__ well __suspicions rise…__maybe the __guys have a screw or two loose…__But every one of the four got home to their own beds by the end of the "beery" night.  
_

* * *

"We can't go to Babylon yet. It's not open at this hour." Emmett lamented. 

"Why are we even here on Liberty Avenue at this hour?" Brian wanted to know.

"I'm not really sure, but I think that it has something to do with one of us being bored in his loft," was Michael's slightly amused answer.

"I don't remember saying anything about coming here. We could have gone to the Zoo. At least then I would have had a fence between me and the monkeys."

Brian's eyes strayed to the other side of the street. There was a nice specimen of a human male at the entrance to one of the stores over there. He started to cross the street but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Don't even think about it, Brian! You wanted us to go out at this ungodly hour. I'm not going to let you go your merry way now and let you abandon us. You owe us the decency of staying with us, at least 'til it's late enough to go to Babylon."

Michael was unusually firm. He hardly ever used that tone of voice when he spoke to his best friend. Maybe that was the reason Brian heeded his words and abandoned his move to pursue the trick.

"The Liberty Baths are open. Let's start there." Brian took a step again, and again Michael pulled him back.

"No way, Brian. We are not going to start our evening in that place. There has to be something that is less pathetic."

"I don't do pathetic," Brian said, but nobody listened.

"I want to get wasted. Really wasted. There are things that I don't want to remember much longer," Ted said morosely.

"I'm not surprised. If I were you, I would want to forget I was alive." Brian snarled.

"Fuck you!"

"In your dreams."

The four friends put their minds to the task of finding something to do while they waited for Babylon to open its doors. It was a very hot summer evening following a very hot summer day. Undoubtedly, that had something to do with the idea they agreed upon, which was really retarded. Later, nobody was ready to take the blame, though anyone could easily guess who was the culprit; after all, there was only one person who had brains addled enough to come up with something so crazy. But everyone did agree to the plan, so it was totally unfair to blame any one person. They all were equally responsible.

They decided to start from Babylon and walk all the way down Liberty Avenue on one side of the street. Then they would cross the street and walk back. When they reached the other end of the street, they would again cross the street and walk back to Babylon. The idea was that they were supposed to visit every bar and restaurant up and down the street and there drink a beer in each one. It would be interesting to see if they would still be able to enter Babylon after a tour like that?

"We need a special rule for Brian. You aren't allowed to fuck more than one man in any one of the places we visit, Brian. Otherwise we'll be too long in one place," Michael laughed at his friend.

"But what about identical twins? It wouldn't be fair if I fucked just one and not the other. The other one would be so disappointed."

"You better not fuck twins, then. We wouldn't want anyone to feel bad because of our little game," Emmett said smiling benevolently.

The gang followed their game plan, and soon the boys were feeling the first early stages of drunkenness. Even Ted was feeling more and more light hearted as he distanced himself from the memories he wanted to forget. It was a fine early summer evening. There was nothing to worry about, and the world was open in front of them. Brian watched his three friends walk in front of him: arm in arm and marching in the same rhythm. A genuine smile spread on his face as his mind conjured up swaying cloaks and wide brimmed hats decorated with plumes. It was a beautiful smile, which, unfortunately, his friends weren't allowed to see, but the lucky few who saw Brian's smile as they passed the tipsy young men answered with smiles of their own.

The next bar they entered was called Take a Break. The "three musketeers" parked their behinds on the stools in front of the counter. Brian was amused, the boys could see that, but he didn't volunteer the reason for his expression; he just leaned against the counter showing off his beauty, of course, in the most effective way. The four ordered their beers and chatted nonsense while they drank.

"Well, Boyz! This place is called 'Take a Break,' so I'm taking a piss! Back in a few."

Brian left his friends to warm their seats and went to the men's room. Of course, he had consumed enough beer to really need a trip to the men's room, but he was also following a nice perky ass he had just spotted heading in that direction. The other three had seen Brian in action too many times to be fooled: they waited patiently as their friend took care of "business" and "took his break" in the restroom.

Brian had a flabbergasted expression on his face when he finally came back.

"That was the last time I fuck a man against the back wall of a stall. Never again!"

The boys couldn't understand Brian's tone of voice. It was nothing like what they had heard coming out of Brian Kinney before. Not only was what he said surprising, but his tone of voice really alarmed them.

"What happened back there?"

"What? What's the problem?"

"What happened to you back there?"

The boys voiced their concern, each according to his personal attitude towards Brian.

"The trick faced the wall, his hands in front of him steadying himself, as I rammed in. Everything was going fine, we were close to the edge, the trick was moaning loudly and demanding even more. Then, suddenly, he wasn't where he was supposed to be. His knees buckled, and he fell head first into the john. I could do nothing to stop him: it happened so fast. All I could do was to fish him out before he drowned. It was messy, and there was nothing life affirming about it."

Brian shuddered, a sure sign of how shaken he was by the event.

"What happened to the poor man?" Emmett wanted to know.

"Seemed to black out. Bad timing."

"You fucked the man into oblivion?" Ted snickered.

"Wouldn't have been the first time if I did," Brian said stating a fact. His voice faded away as he continued, "I hope there was no other reason."

Brian's eyes traced the grains of the wood used for the counter top.

"Are you alright, Brian? Why didn't the trick put the lid of the toilet seat down?"

Michael wanted to comfort his best friend, whom Michael knew to be much more shaken than he let his friends see, but, of course, he knew that Brian wouldn't accept any comfort. He rarely did even if it were just the two of them, and he never did in public. All Michael could do was give support. It wasn't Brian's fault.

"And how long do toilet seat lids survive the heavy use around here?" Brian pointed out a well known fact about the toilets of Liberty Avenue.

"You did everything you could."

"Yeah, but I could have lived without knowing what a man looks like when he comes to his senses after diving into a can. And what a man looks like when he understands that the vile taste in his mouth comes from the water in that can."

"Ewww. Brian. Shut up!"

For awhile there were four slightly green faced men staring at the counter top.

The beer bottles were empty, and the happy quartet left Take a Break to find the next round of beer.

For awhile, their beer trip went on without unplanned complications. They got steadily more intoxicated, their conversation got steadily more nonsensical, and Brian's regular vanishing acts kept them waiting. This pattern was next broken in a bar called End of Law. The beer had been ordered and partially consumed when Michael and Ted noticed that they were not missing just one friend but two. They had good reason to suppose they knew the whereabouts of Brian, but where was Emmett? Ted turned to Michael as he felt something disturbing trying to surface in his memory.

"There is no…?" Ted started to say, but stopped as his eyes found something he didn't want them to find.

"You don't mean to say…?" Michael turned to look, too.

"Emmett! No!" Michael and Ted shouted in sudden panic.

But it was too late. The harm was already on its way. They could only watch as the dart Emmett had let fly arched across the few feet towards the dartboard. Only, it wasn't arching there, not exactly. The dart landed in a fleshy part of a nearby shoulder instead…A shoulder that was attached to an equally fleshy back of a big man with bulging muscles…A big man who turned his head towards the pain in his shoulder and found Emmet staring at him hands over his mouth: the embodiment of guilt.

Michael and Ted rushed to Emmett just in time to protect him from the wounded man's friends. The man himself was holding his shoulder and muttering over and over again, "Hurts like motherfucker. It hurts like motherfucker. It hurts…" His friends tried to get their hands on Emmett, who was trying to hide his tall frame behind his much shorter friends. There was a lot of noise, but surprisingly little damage was done after the original offence.

"Call an ambulance!" Somebody was bright enough to notice the need for medical care.

"An ambulance is on its way." A steady voice was heard above the tumult.

"Brian! Thank God, you're here. We need your help!" Michael was frantic.

"I've already done what there is to be done. Why on earth did you let Emmett near darts?"

Brian's calm and detached demeanor was quickly dousing the flames of anger that just a moment ago were turning an accident into a brawl.

"We failed to notice that there was a dartboard there, so we didn't understand what Emmett was up to until it was too late," Ted admitted as he watched Emmett showering the wounded man with his apologies.

The man and his friends seemed to accept his remorse as genuine and withdrew their threats against his health.

It took the ambulance just minutes to pull up in front of the bar, and soon white clad men were checking on the bleeding man. The puncture wound was not too deep, darts are designed to prevent that kind of accidents from turning into serious problems, but it was bleeding freely enough to cause alarm, and, of course, the dart had been dirty. The medics recommended the man to ride with them to hospital.

While the men were checking their patient, Emmet was checking the men. One was busy taking care of the wounded man, but the other was giving the eye to Emmet who moved closer and smiled. The other one smiled back.

"I'll come with you to the hospital; I need to know that you're all right!" Emmett said to the wounded man and the medics. "Can I ride in the ambulance, please?"

Not one of the wounded man's friends wanted to cut short his night, so they let Emmett go. As the blue lights of the ambulance vanished in the distance, so did Emmett vanish from Liberty Avenue for the rest of the night.

However, three of the young men were still in the game. They walked the short distance to the next bar, a place called Yellow Moon, and ordered fresh bottles of beer. It didn't take long for Brian, again in a pursuit of an ass or a mouth, to leave the other two to nurse their beers. Soon Ted also left their table, but it was just to visit the men's room. Michael didn't expect to have to sit alone at the table for long, but soon he could only surmise that maybe Ted had gotten lucky, as unlikely as that was.

And Ted had gotten lucky. Right away, as he entered the men's room, a man suggested a fuck, which Ted was certainly not going to miss. If Brian could take detours from their game, so could he. The two found a vacant stall and put it to good use. The trick pushed Ted against the wall and attacked his mouth with fervor. His every move was hurried; he had an urge to get off as quickly as possible. The trick pushed Ted's pants and underwear down his hips, and when they dropped even further and landed around his ankles, he ordered Ted to step out of them completely. They were just getting into serious business as the door to the stall was forcefully opened; an act that was accompanied with a shrill shriek. A second hadn't gone when a hand grabbed a handful of the shirt Ted's trick wore and snatched the man away, exposing Ted's bare ass in the process for the dumbfounded audience in the men's room. Ted could only stare at the petite but irate blonde standing in the middle of the men's room of a gay bar.

"Bobby! You bastard! You get home right this minute! I won't tolerate one shred of your faggoty ways, never! You're my husband, the father of this child I carry! You belong to me!"

She yanked her husband's pants up hard enough to make him wince and pulled him out of the room still yelling. Her shrill voice only faded as it became apparent that the couple had left the bar.

As the door of the men's room gently swung shut behind the happy couple, every pair of eyes turned to Ted who stood there completely shocked. Then he flushed deeply and slammed the door of the stall closed. Ted leaned his back against the door that was the only thing standing between him and the laughter he heard from the other side. He didn't remember if he had ever felt more humiliated. Ted's knees were not steady, and tears were not far from his eyes. Ted panted there for a good long time.

Later, after the laughter died away, Ted began to nerve himself for the walk through the bar to the street. He swept his sweating hands to his thighs and found skin instead of cloth. He looked down and understood that he had lost his pants somehow. He looked around the stall, but his pants and underwear were not there. That was too much for poor Ted; tears came.

Ted couldn't raise his voice and ask the other men in the men's room to look for his pants: he had already been laughed at enough for one evening. It took some time for Ted to recover enough from his latest spell of desperation to notice that he hadn't lost his cell phone or even his wallet. Even his key was there, in his wallet; for a night on Liberty Avenue, Ted never carried anything he could manage without. There was a way out of his predicament. His friends would laugh at him, he knew that, but at least it wouldn't be the whole Liberty Avenue laughing.

Ted called first to Emmett, but his phone was turned off. Apparently, he was still in the hospital. The next call was to Michael, who should be sitting just on the other side of the wall. He would come to the rescue. Ted let the phone ring, but Michael didn't answer his cell. Only one possibility was left. Brian. Could he call Brian? Could he do that to himself? He was the target of Brian's sarcastic wit too often as it was. But was there any choice?

There wasn't. Ted waited until there wasn't anybody else in the men's room and then dialed Brian's number - and nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard a chirp of a phone from the other side of the door to his stall.

"Yeah?" Ted heard Brian's voice through the door and through his cell.

"Brian. I'm in a bit of a trouble here…" Ted started sheepishly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Theodore. What can I do for you, dear?" Brian's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, I sort of lost my…pants."

"You lost what? You swallowed the word in the end, Theodore."

"My…" Ted swallowed for real, before saying: "pants." His desperation was evident in his quiet voice.

"Theodore." Brian's surprised laughter made Ted cringe. "How the fuck can you lose your pants in Yellow Moon? This bar is among the least raucous places on the street. Michael is pathetic. I don't know what to call you."

"Maybe there is one faggot on Liberty Avenue that didn't hear you!" Ted hissed. "Would you, please, keep your voice down!"

Ted heard Brian chuckle, but the man lowered his voice.

"Where are you, Ted?"

"The closed door in front of you…"

"In front of me? This is priceless." Brian was getting tears in his eyes. "I don't have your pants, Ted. What do you think I could do to help?"

"Would you please take a look? My pants might be out there somewhere." Ted pleaded.

Brian did, but he couldn't find a single shred of cloth, much less Ted's pants.

"Would you go to my place and bring me another pair? Please, Brian? Please?" Ted was actually begging.

"You've got your keys? You didn't lose your keys, did you?"

Ted thought that he heard concern in Brian's voice, but soon he realized that it must just have been hopeful thinking. Brian Kinney wouldn't be concerned about Ted's property. Brian didn't care about anybody except for himself. Most likely Brian was just making fun of him, as usual.

"No, I have the key. Here."

Ted shoved his hand - with a key and some money in it - under the door.

"You don't need to pay me, Ted." There was annoyance in Brian's voice, and this time Ted didn't doubt his hearing. "I'll get you your pants."

"It's for taxi. Brian, you're in no condition to drive, and neither is Michael. I wouldn't expect you to pay for the taxi yourself."

"You're probably right about the driving. Very well. Any wishes about the pants?"

"I don't care. Any pair will do."

Brian left, and Ted started the long wait. He knew it would take Brian almost an hour to get back.

Brian, on the other hand, hurried to Michael. He told his friend that something had come up, and that he would be away for an hour or so. Michael, who had for some time already waited for his two friends to come back, was not too happy, but he knew Brian. When "something came up" there was nothing he could do: Brian would do what he wanted to, no matter who he hurt or inconvenienced in the doing. It was just Brian being Brian. Michael had been making eyes at a man across the bar, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad to wait after all.

Brian stepped out of the bar and stopped. Just a few steps away stood a young blond in a pool of yellow light, steam from a vent all around him. The boy looked like a vision from another world - from a world where there still was innocence; something Brian himself had never possessed, not in himself, not in the world around him. Brian seemed to have entered this world already acquainted with sin.

What Brian did next, what he said, and what the boy answered belong to another story, but when Brian climbed into a taxi the boy climbed in behind him. They drove to Ted's condo where he told the taxi driver to wait with the boy while he visited the building. Soon they were back on Liberty Avenue and in front of Yellow Moon.

First Brian went to check on Michael, who still sat at the same table as before. Michael had drunk more than one bottle of beer while waiting; that much was clear. Michael's speech, on the other hand, was anything but clear. He actually was slurring quite badly. Brian told Michael and the boy to wait. He needed to go to the men's room.

So Brian saved Ted's ass, literally. Soon Ted was again decently clothed and free of his temporary confinement. Ted and Brian joined the couple at the table. The atmosphere was uncomfortable. Michael wasn't happy playing host to the blond boy ass.

"You've never been a chicken hawk, Brian. What is the matter with you? Why did you bring him here?" Michael hissed to his friend.

"Not your business." Brian's voice was curt.

The blond boy smiled radiantly at Brian, which turned Michael's expression even more stormy.

"It's time to move on, don't you think, guys?" Ted tried to help the situation.

"I definitely want to leave this place, and I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted out of here, too, Ted." Michael agreed eyeing his best friend with mild scorn.

"Yes, I wouldn't mind seeing something more interesting than the scenery I was staring at the last hour or so," Ted muttered, casting a worried glance at Brian, who pretended not to notice, but gave a little smile, anyway.

Michael hadn't said anything about Ted's mishap, not one teasing word. Ted knew that he had Brian to thank for that. Who would've thought?

The men and the boy stepped out into the street, which by that time was buzzing with activity. Michael made a beeline to the closest place they had yet to visit that promised to ease his thirst. The place--called Dirty Old Town--was not far, and in no time the four sat in a booth, beer bottles in front of them; even the boy had one. Michael had tried to suggest that the boy would be better off with a soft drink, but Brian didn't want any advice from his friend. Instead, he suggested that he could buy a soft drink for Michael who had needed more than the width of the sidewalk to walk to the bar.

"What did you do, Michael, during the time I was otherwise occupied?" Brian asked his friend. "Anything I would have done?"

"Otherwise occupied. Nicely put, Brian." Michael's attempt at sarcasm was ruined by the vacant look in his eyes, and his slurred speech didn't help his attempt, either. "There was nothing interesting to do."

More likely, nobody had been interested in getting acquainted with Michael. But then, the quiet place had not been exactly ready for the likes of Mikey, the club boy. Even Michael, who was a boy next door -type, had stood out there, since he was dressed for the night in Babylon. Too trendy and showy.

"I was bored out of my mind. You sure took your time with your trick. Ted, where did you disappear and with whom? Spill!"

"There's nothing much to tell," Ted said again glancing at Brian, who cocked one eye brow but said nothing. "I found a trick in the men's room, and we fucked in a stall. Afterwards I was kept by a friend, we talked a little, and then I came back to you."

It wasn't a lie; it just wasn't all of the truth. Brian grinned briefly at Ted and turned back to the boy sitting beside him. He found the blond hair irresistible. The silky strands felt clean and soft as he combed his fingers through them. A part of his anatomy stirred and made it clear that it had been ignored for much too long.

"We need to be someplace. See you tomorrow, boys. And stay away from Guinness, Michael!"

Brian pulled the boy out of the booth and out of the door before Michael could get one word out of his mouth. Ted chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Michael couldn't believe it; his best friend had abandoned him again, and just because of that little piece of blond boy ass. "It's just Brian being Brian. Nothing new."

"Yeah, some things never change."

Brian took the boy to his loft. What happened there is again part of another story. However, the following morning a young blond boy told a girl with curly brown hair that he had seen the face of a god. Another young man had been successfully converted to the belief that Brian Kinney had a superior cock with equally superior skills in using it.

In the bar Michael was staring at Ted's thigh.

"By the way, memory's a peculiar thing. I thought you had on your pinstriped pants, but no: they are the same color, but there are no stripes. Or did you change into that pair in the men's room?" Michael chuckled.

Ted felt the heat spreading from his neck up to his cheeks. He didn't know what to say.

Fortunately Ted didn't need to find anything to say: at the same moment his cell phone mewled its digital song of invitation. Emmett had had his adventure with the ambulance trick and asked if Ted could come and pick him up. Ted had sobered up enough to drive, so he told Em that he would be there shortly. And so it was that Michael was the only one of the gang still on Liberty Avenue.

Michael stared at his empty bottle of Kilkenny. He moved from the booth to the counter and noticed a row of handles behind it. Michael became more aware of the detail of his surroundings, and the truth dawned on him: he had ended up in the only Irish pub on Liberty Avenue.

"Hey, cutie!" The bartender had come to Michael. "Where did you put your friends?"

"In my pocket." Michael looked at the grinning man who had an accent Michael decided to take as Irish. "Is it beer in those?" Michael asked pointing the handles.

"It sure is. Beer and not that horse piss they put in bottles. Real ale and stout of course."

"What's the best you've got? What would you drink yourself?"

"Guinness, but I guess that's too much for your continental genes."

"Huh?" Michael wasn't at his brightest at that moment.

"You're the Novotny guy, Kinney's friend, aren't you?" Michael nodded. "Your folks came from Italy, so that makes you a soft continental boy. Not a sturdy islander like your friend."

"He is my best friend. I'll drink anything he drinks. Give me a glass of what ever it is he favors!"

"A pint?"

"Huh?" Michael really wasn't at his brightest.

"A pint. Like this." The bartender showed a glass. "Or a half pint like this?" The bartender showed a smaller glass.

"A pint," Michael decided.

The bartender let beer flow to the glass, but just about the half of the glass was filled.

"I wanted a pint, not a half," Michael said, indignant.

"All in its own good time, my ignorant friend."

"Who are you calling ignorant? Why don't you fill the glass?"

"The beer needs to settle first."

"Why? You could just let the foam come out of the glass. No big deal."

"And you would accept it without a head? Hasn't Kinney taught you any manners, boy? He appreciates the head: smooth, creamy and blonde."

Michael watched the man fuss over a glass of beer. Apparently whatever it was he had waited to happen had happened because he let more of the beer go into the glass.

"Finally. Hey, what are you doing now?"

The man had stopped the flow of the beer for a second; then he made some quick moves with his hand as he let more of the drink into the glass.

"Are you casting a spell, or what?"

"The shamrock. I don't believe this. Kinney never taught you how to drink Irish, did he?"

"Apparently not," Michael said and looked in dismay at the glass the Irish bartender put in front of him. There really was a neat picture of a shamrock in the foam!

"What the hell is this thing? It looks nothing like beer. It's black, and I can't see even my own hand through the stuff."

"It's what Kinney drinks here, Guinness stout. Take a sip; let's see what you're made of, boy."

Michael did and nearly choked. The taste was bitter and burnt. Awful. Michael's face twisted, and the bartender smiled knowingly, "Too much for a continental lad."

Michael looked at the glass in front of him. Brian drank the stuff. It was his favorite. Michael would learn to like the stuff even if it killed him. Well, Michael, after all, wasn't at his brightest right then. He took another sip and swallowed, then another and swallowed, then another.

Michael drank the stout, every last drop of it. It took time. It took character. But finally the glass was empty.

"Another?" The bartender smiled.

Michael stared at the bartender. "How many glasses does Brian drink during his visits here?"

"It depends. It is a well known fact that a bird does not fly on one wing. He never leaves with just one, but I haven't seen him drink more than four so far."

"Another." Michael bit his teeth together. If Brian could do this, so could Michael.

Another ceremony of two-part pouring, another battle of will to down the stuff. Finally it was done. Michael had proved himself that he was worthy of being the best friend of Brian Kinney. Well, Michael was in no condition to be at his brightest at the moment.

"How 'bout another?" The bartender smiled at Michael, like a father he never had.

"I think I've had enough of that stuff for now."

More likely, he had had enough of that stuff for the rest of his life, not that Michael was in any condition to come to that conclusion.

"Something else?"

"Brian ordered our first round here. What was it?"

"Kilkenny in a bottle. We've got that on a tap, too. Which one would you like to have?"

"Which one Brian would choose?"

"From the tap."

"From the tap, then."

Michael got his Kilkenny and rinsed the taste of Guinness with it. Michael downed the beer quickly. It actually tasted like a beer. For a moment he was feeling fine. Then the bar started to go 'round and 'round and 'round…

A phone went off in the loft just as Brian was giving a blow job lesson to his young student.

"Don't come yet," he said and grabbed the receiver. "What?" He barked in it.

"Kinney? Your friend is in trouble in the pub, come and get him."

"Shamrock? Dirty Old Town? Who's in trouble?"

"That cute little Italian you call a friend, Novotny. Oh, no. Now he is puking in his glass. Get your ass here, now!"

The line went dead, and Brian looked at the boy on the bed. Damn. He couldn't leave Shamrock with inebriated Michael to deal with. The man was his friend after all.

And he couldn't leave Michael there either.

But he hadn't yet fucked the blond.

"Mikey… Shamrock must have served him Guinness; Mikey has no stomach for stout, never has, never will," Brian mumbled. "Let's go. A rescue mission awaits us," he said to the boy.

The boy looked at his cock that stood painfully erect, and a frustrated expression spread on his face.

Brian took pity on the lad and relented, "Well, you're a teen. It'll take just a minute."

And it did take just that. Brian still licked his lips as they run down the stairs to his car. They drove to the bar; then carried Michael to the car. On the way to Michael's place, they prayed he wouldn't puke in the car. When they finally arrived there they carried the man in, put him in bed, and, at last, were ready to drive back to the loft. On the way there Brian's cell went off, and the shrill voice of Melanie Marcus made Brian's teeth ache.

"We are going to hospital."

The boy looked at Brian bewildered by the second sudden change in plans. He was nothing like experienced in the matters of gay sex, but even he was sure that the night was not going the way it was supposed to go. But what happened in the hospital and after that in the loft also belongs to another story.

Brian and the boy were heading towards the hospital, Michael was sleeping in his own bed in a condo where Ted had earlier delivered Emmett, and Ted had driven himself home. So, the gang had all finally left Liberty Avenue.

As for Babylon, the gang did not make it there that "beery" night - which was probably a starry night as well, if they had ever made it to Babylon to notice.

The End

* * *

This story was inspired by _Vilperin perikunta's _song _Voitonjuhliin Ruotsiin _(the title of the song translates into: On the way to celebrate a victory in Sweden) 


End file.
